


Strange Meeting

by KoreArabin



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Beating, Blood and Gore, Bondage, Captivity, Chains, Collars, Genital Torture, Humiliation, M/M, Pain, Restraints, Straightjackets, Taunting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-19
Updated: 2014-02-09
Packaged: 2018-01-09 06:47:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 3,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1142791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KoreArabin/pseuds/KoreArabin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"My place.  My rules.  What <i>I</i> want.  And what I want now is you sitting up properly, looking at me and showing me a little deference."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“I must confess that I did not anticipate making your closer acquaintance quite so soon.”

The man huddled against the opposite wall lifts his head slightly, one bruise-ringed, dark eye visible through the lank, tousled hair obscuring his face.

"But you have an irritating habit of turning up unexpectedly. Repeatedly, like the proverbial bad penny. Is it so very difficult then, to get rid of you?"

“Pfffft. I’m always around, honey, whiling away the hours down here in your vaults. Rifling through your documents. Stealing your top secret secrets.”

Magnussen smiles; well, his face creases into an approximation of a smile, but no warmth reaches his eyes. 

“So you say, _James_. But I think we both know that that’s not quite true, don’t we?”

"Do we? I mean, there's hardly much else to do down here, Charlie-boy."

"Oh. Are you bored, James? I do apologise - we must remedy that, immediately. Shall we play a little game?"

Jim grins, chain chinking softly as he straightens up. "Yes, yes, yes! I do so love a little _game_. What shall we play?"

He licks his lips, deliberately, looking up coyly at Magnussen from below his lashes. "Shall I play _gay_ for you, Charlie-boy? You'd like that. They always do."

Magnussen shrugs. "Possibly. Not really my thing."

Jim pouts. "But I'll make it sooooo good for you, honey, pwomise."

Magnussen crosses the floor of the cell in a few rapid strides, grasping Jim's hair and forcing his head back. "My place. My rules. What _I_ want. And what I want now is you sitting up properly, looking at me and showing me a little deference."

Jim's coy smile is wiped away as Magnussen backhands him hard across the face. Licking at the blood beading on his lip, he smirks up at Magnussen defiantly.

" _Your_ place? I don't think so, Charlie-boy. This place has boring old Sherlock written all over it."

Magnussen straightens up and looks around them at the filthy padded cell, shrugging. 

"It is unremarkable. A generic wooden O, perhaps, on which to act out our little dramas? Or, in your case, terming it a _cockpit_ is, perhaps, more apt."

Jim laughs. "Good! Very good! I do like a man with bit of learning about him. A bit of _kulcher_."

"You're welcome."

Jim frowns, looking around with a quizzical air. "But - an O, yes, but hardly _wooden_. Fuck knows what plodding old Sherly's made this fucking _literal_ pit out of, but it sure as fuck is a lot more secure than fucking wood. I should fucking know."

"Hush, please. I will not tolerate such vulgarity. I promised you a game, and of course I know your favourite game, Mr Moriarty. So let us play it."

~o~

“And the secrets she’s hiding!”

“Mm-hmm. She’s the most interesting thing that’s ever happened to that lumpen little doctor. Apart from you popping him into the bonfire, of course. I enjoyed that, even if you are a little out of touch with what the English hoi polloi get up to on fireworks night these days.”

“Me? Out of touch? Possible. But you, James, are – now, what do the English say? All mouth and no trousers. You’ve no idea what the good doctor’s wife’s been up to, in her very murky past.”

Moriarty's grin of one of unbridled malice. "You have no idea. You have no idea of what I know. In here," he rolls his eyes upwards. "In my mind. I know."

Magnussen steeples his fingers and rests his chin on them, lightly.

"You know?"

"Hurr durr. Obviously. Doh."

Magnussen tries, unsuccessfully, to hide a smirk. "Off you go, then."

"You want me to tell you what you already know?"

"No; I want you to prove that you know it."

Jim giggles. "Ooh, touché, darling! You have been doing your homework."

Magnussen looks away, sighs, stands up.

"This is becoming tiresome. Your lies are boring, and you so hate being boring, James, don't you? Let's try something else."


	2. Chapter 2

Magnussen retreats to the door, opening it and barking a short, sharp order in Danish. Immediately a burly man dressed in the white uniform of an orderly from an institution enters, holding what appears to be a metal rod. He pushes back part of the rubber floor covering in the middle of the room, revealing several bolts set into the underlying surface. Setting the metal rod on end, he begins to unscrew the bolts, loosening them one by one, until an area of floor about a metre square rises slightly proud of its surroundings.

Feeling along the edge of the raised area, the orderly then presses down and the flooring slides away, a platform rising up through the gap, a stout chair attached to it. The nature of the chair soon becomes apparent as the orderly tidies the leather straps, chains and shackles attached to it, then moves aside to stand menacingly over Jim. 

"Skynd dig!"

The orderly bows perfunctorily to Magnussen and then turns back to Jim, who tenses and shuffles back as far as he can against the padded wall of the room. Grasping a handful of his hair, the orderly hauls Jim up, unlocking the chain from the back of his thick iron collar as he does so, pulling Jim over to the chair and forcing him down on to the seat. 

The eyelet on the back of the collar is soon secured to the back of the chair and a thick leather strap buckled tightly around Jim's straight-jacketed torso. The orderly then steps back, leaving Jim writhing helplessly in his restraints.

Magnussen steps forward, towering over the man strapped to the chair.

"I promised you another game. This is one of my favourites."

Jim struggles. "Yeah? So fucking what? I'm bored of your games. They're fucking boring. _You're_ fucking boring. I don't want to play any more."

Magnussen's eyes are bright with excitement. "No, you'll do as I say. You'll play my game. _My place. My rules_."

"Fuck you!"

"Straighten up."

When Jim - predictably - tries to slump down in the seat, the orderly simply steps forward and adjusts the back of the chair, extending it so that Jim is pulled sharply upwards, the collar pressing hard into the soft flesh of his throat.

"That's it. I just love your pretty little face, and your dark doe eyes. I’d like to hurt it. Your face."

Jim stares back at him, his eyes wide.

Magnussen smirks. "Say please."

This time, Jim's voice is hoarse, choked by the collar. "F-fuck you, Charlie-boy!"

"Say please. Say please flick my face. Say please hurt me."

"F-f-ucker!"

"No?" 

Magnussen lifts his hand, tucking his middle finger under his thumb, and holds it up to Jim's cheek.

" _No?_ "

As Jim tries to flinch away, Magnussen releases his finger, flicking sharply with his nail against against Jim's cheek. Jim flinches away, as much as he can, held tautly upright and choking against the collar, but Magnussen simply continues to flick at his face, striking his cheeks, his forehead and his nose, repeatedly. 

_Flick Flick Flick_

Magnussen chuckles as a particularly hard flick against the tip of his nose has Jim's eyes streaming.

_Flick_

"I just love doing this. I could do it all day."

_Flick_

"C-cunt."

_Flick Flick_

"You think you are so powerful, _Jimmy_."

_Flick_

"What was it you said?"

_Flick_

"Ah, yes - _I could blow up NATO in alphabetical order._ And yet, you cannot even prevent me _flicking your face_."

_Flick Flick Flick_

Magnussen steps back, rubbing his fingertip. "This is what I do to people. This is what I do to _whole countries_..."

_Flick_

"Just because I _can_ ".

_Flick_

Magnussen bends back down to Jim.

"Shall I do your eye now? See if you can keep it open, hmmm?"

Magnussen flicks at Jim's eyebrow as Jim instinctively flinches, and closes his eyes. 

Magnussen sniggers.

"And say please flick my eye. Say please hurt me, Mr Magnussen. Say please _hurt_ me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Skynd dig!" = "Hurry up!"


	3. Chapter 3

Magnussen flicks at Jim's eyebrow again, smiling, as Jim is unable to stop himself flinching.

"Oh, come on. The fearsome James Moriarty can't keep it open?"

_Flick_

"Come on. Eye open."

"F-fuck you. Just - fuck _off_!"

Magnussen laughs. "It’s difficult, isn’t it? But, in answer, no, I will not "fuck off", and no, I will not stop." 

Jim chokes as he tries to twist away from the onslaught, coughing and spraying himself with saliva.

Magnussen steps back, his face a grimace of distaste.

"Pathetic. You're no fun."

Jim glares at him from bloodshot eyes.

"I'm plenty of f-fun, honey. You're just not p-playing the right games."

"Changing the game _again_? How very disappointing. I expected more of the self-proclaimed world's only consulting criminal."

Magnussen nods to the orderly standing silent nearby, who steps forward to manhandle Jim's legs apart, unbuckling the straightjacket's strap locked between them. The orderly pulls the loose, filthy prison trousers off and throws them to one side, then grabs Jim's ankles one by one and straps them to the legs of the chair.

Jim blushes scarlet with humiliation as his groin area is laid bare, revealing the heavy metal chastity device locked over his cock and balls. 

Magnussen claps his hands, chuckling. "Well, I never did. That "boring" old Sherlock really has done a number on you, hasn't he? You don't even have the diversion of a good old-fashioned _wank_ to distract you."

Magnussen pauses, leaning over to exacerbate Jim's embarrassment by examining the device in detail. 

"No wonder you are so bad tempered. As if being imprisoned in this pit was not bad enough. To have your _manhood_ locked away, too?"

Jim closes his eyes, tight. Mind palace, vault, a _world_ of locked rooms. Didn't he have the key, once? A crown? 

Then, leaning down beside him, _so fucking tauntingly_ , Magnussen whispers, into his ear.

"Would you like the _king_ to unlock you? _Honey_?"


	4. Chapter 4

Magnussen smiles, actually _grins_ , enjoying himself immensely. This is what he lives for, the sadistic enjoyment of having another person in his power, especially the fearsome Jim Moriarty, fighting desperately to free himself whilst all the time only tangling himself deeper in Magnussen's net.

Circling Jim, Magnussen whispers in his other ear.

“I won’t even make you beg. All I ask is that you indulge me in another little game.”

Jim simply turns his head away, focussing defiantly on some undefined point on the padded wall. Leaning over him, Magnussen retrieves something from his pocket and dangles it tauntingly in Jim’s line of vision.

“Oh look. Here’s the key to your manhood, James. What shall we do with it, hmmm?”

When Jim remains silent, Magnussen nods to the orderly, who dutifully wanders off outside of the cell, returning with a wheeled trolley covered in opaque plastic sheeting. Jim continues to stare stonily ahead, resisting the temptation to try to look at the trolley from his peripheral vision.

Magnussen circles the chair again and squats between Jim’s splayed legs, grasping them and kneading the soft, sensitive flesh of his inner thighs with his thumbs.

“Here is the thing, James. You will cooperate with me, in playing my little game, and then I shall leave you in peace to do whatever it is you do to occupy your time down here.”

Jim continues to ignore Magnussen and so, with another nod, he gestures to the orderly, who grasps Jim’s head roughly, yanking it up and poking his fingertips into the edges of his eye sockets and holding them painfully open.

Magnussen's ice blue eyes bore into Jim's black ones.

“You will cooperate, or things will become extremely unpleasant for you. I will begin by stapling your eyelids open, and I will then order my man here to administer a severe beating. If you then persist in your stubbornness, we will move on to the items on the trolley.”

At this, the orderly pulls back the plastic sheeting, revealing a collection of rusting knives, pliers and other tools, lengths of wire and a blow torch. Despite himself, Jim is unable to stifle a shudder.

“Fuck you, Magnussen. A game? Then you’ll leave me be?”

Magnussen’s lips twitch. “Yes, honey. _Pwomise_.”


	5. Chapter 5

In the seconds before he graces Magnussen with a response, Jim's mind stills, until his entire consciousness is focussed solely on the situation at hand. All other distractions - the humiliation of his current predicament, the petty power games Magnussen is playing, and the ominous prospect of another such game looming - are pushed aside.

Whilst some might term James Moriarty a genius, very few would think to call him a savant. He's far too attuned to the subtle nuances of every action and interaction of the world around him to register anywhere on the autism spectrum. His IQ is undoubtedly prodigious, not that anyone since his childhood has ever had the opportunity, and certainly not the ability, to even _attempt_ to test it.

Despite his immense achievements in academia (always utterly overlooked or disregarded by his opponents, much to Jim's bemusement), his ability to process the most complex computations, be they ones mathematical, logistical or of enhanced perception or sensory hypersensitivity, isn't exactly "calculation" at all. Jim sees and hears and feels the elements of any such problem in the form of shapes, colours, textures, and sounds. There may even be a smidgen of taste perception thrown in, occasionally. 

The number five, for instance, is a clap of thunder. A simple algorithm may commence with a play on a piece of music - the aria from Bach's Goldberg Variations might be a starting point, depending on his mood. Numbers interacting spark glorious arcs of light and sound in Jim's mind, which change and evolve, and new shapes and textures emerge unbidden. It is mental imagery of the most esoteric kind. It is basic, fundamental, _primordial_ , without perhaps even conscious effort.

With such a feast for the senses playing privately, and pretty much constantly, within the confines of his mind, Jim finds his centre and grounds himself, totally.

"Okay."

Magnussen smiles, triumphant, oblivious to the fleeting look of triumph crossing Jim's face before he settles his features back into their habitual expression of mocking disinterest. 

"Good boy. Let's try this."

Magnussen slowly pulls on a pair of opaque latex gloves, watching Jim intently as Jim stares fixedly into space, clicking his tongue quietly against the edge of his mouth, purposely avoiding looking at Magnussen.

Crouching down between Jim's spread thighs, Magnussen again tucks his middle finger under his thumb and waits for Jim to look at him. With a rather brilliantly convincing _sigh_ of utter ennui, Jim tilts his head down and looks pointedly at Magnussen's hand.

" _This_ again? Oh, honey, you are _boooorrring_."

"And you are such a convincing actor, Jimmy. I'm almost persuaded by your performance. Bravo. But I do prefer something more impromptu. Something more _spontaneous_."

And for all his bravura, Jim cannot prevent the involuntary tears and the high-pitched yelp of pain, as Magnussen flicks his fingertip hard into the tip of his penis.


	6. Chapter 6

“There’s a good boy. Squeal some more for me. I like hearing you squeal.”

Jim presses his lips together as tightly as he can, biting down on the inside of his mouth with his teeth, and tries to look as defiant as possible, but it is difficult when one’s eyes and nose are streaming in pain.

“No, don’t be silly. There are penalties for naughty boys who don’t play along and try to please me.”

Magnussen picks up a pair of pliers and feints a lunge at Jim’s mouth, snapping the rusty jaws of the tool millimetres from his lips. Jim jerks backwards reflexively, choking himself again on the iron collar.

“Squeal, Jimmy. That’s the first part of the game. You squeal like a little piggy, to let me know how much I’m hurting you.”

Jim whimpers as Magnussen flicks hard at his sensitive frenulum, for the first time really on the brink of sobbing since this torment began, and howls as Magnussen pinches and twists the skin between his testicles.

“There. That wasn’t so hard, was it? And, just as there are penalties for naughty boys, there are also rewards for good ones. Do you want a reward, Jimmy?”

Knowing that Magnussen isn’t going to let him get away without answering, Jim growls out a sullen, “Yes.”

Magnussen raises his eyebrows pointedly. “Yes, what?”

Jim knows what’s expected, and struggles not to let the words stick in his throat as he grinds out a choked, “Yes, _please_.” 

Magnussen peels off the latex gloves carefully, and then cleans his fingers fastidiously on an antiseptic wipe.

"Do you want to orgasm, James?"


	7. Chapter 7

Even though he’s coming to expect pretty much anything from his sadistic captor, the question takes Jim by surprise. He stares at Magnussen, wondering where this particular little game is going. 

Magnussen laughs. "Don’t look so shocked, James. I suppose _sex_ isn’t going to be uppermost on your mind, chained up down here in this filthy pen, stinking like an animal, with your manhood locked away."

"Yes." Magnussen leans over him, breathing in his scent, grimacing in disgust. "As I said, _stinking_." He coughs, exaggeratedly.

"You smell _disgusting_ , James. Like an animal. Although - an animal would at least _attempt_ to clean itself, wouldn't it? Try to lick itself clean, if all else failed. Not sit there stinking of piss and sweat and filth." 

Jim can't restrain himself, despite his nudity, despite the ever-present threat of further punishment.

"Fuck you, Magnussen. You're a pathetic, creeping, _whining_ little piece of blackmailer shit - _despised_ , not feared. The people in charge only play along with your petty little threats because they're so fucking stupid and ordinary. They know who you are - _doh_. It's only a matter of time 'til one of them has you fucked up. _She_ nearly did, didn't she? And didn't you _cringe_ before her, Charlie-boy? You nearly fucking shat yourself."

Magnussen stands, towering over Jim, strapped captive in his chair. 

"So says the criminal genius utterly defenceless before me. The criminal genius who's so helpless he can't even wipe his arse after performing a bodily function."

Picking up the pliers again, Magnussen folds himself back down into a crouch before Jim. 

"Before your reward, then, a penalty. I told you what I would do to naughty boys."

Jim's scream as the pliers bite down on to the nail of his little toe and prises it free echoes around the cell. Magnussen holds the nail up to the light, examining it intently as the pool of blood spreads around Jim's foot. Flicking it casually to one side, he focusses again on Jim, sitting twisted against the chair, his face pale with pain and shock.

"Penalty, and then reward, James. Time for your reward."


	8. Chapter 8

“Yes, James. A reward. One you may not have thought you wanted, but it should help to relieve something of the tension you’ve been under.”

Magnussen nods to the orderly, who has been standing quietly by the door. He moves away, just outside the line of of Jim's sight, returning with a deep reddish lump, which is placed before Jim's crotch.

"I have a gift for you. A heart. Once, it beat; perhaps it harboured love, hope, joy. Now - "

Jim’s cry of surprise emerges as a choked whisper.

" _Whose heart_?"

"What would you say if I told you it was Sherlock's heart? Or John's? Would that excite you? Would that _arouse_ you?"

Jim stares at the heart, transfixed. Despite his penchant for rough sex involving knives and cutting and pain, he cannot prevent the bile rising in his throat at the sight of it, gleaming dully, clots of blood congealing on its surface. 

Magnussen leans over him, murmuring into his ear. 

"It’s still warm, James. Push your penis into one of the ventricles."

"Fuck you!" Jim shuffles back as far as he can, restrained in the chair.

"Your only opportunity for coitus, James. For a very, very long time. The cuff will be re-fastened.”

“So fucking what? Fucking a fucking organ for your amusement isn’t high up on the list of my fucking priorities just at present!”

Magnussen draws the tip of his tongue lightly over the sensitive shell of Jim’s ear.

“Fuck it, or I’ll feed it to you. Cold. Piece by piece. Your choice."

This time, Jim does retch, the odour of blood filling his nostrils. Normally, that wouldn’t be an issue; in fact, quite the contrary. Sebastian and he have done some of their most satisfying fucking after particularly bloody kills, riding high on the thrill of death and carnage and mayhem.

_Sebastian_.

Jim closes his eyes, and swallows the lump suddenly formed in his throat. Thinking of his sniper, his _lover_ , and those blue, blue eyes is only going to make this ordeal more difficult to bear.

No, the nausea comes not from the blood itself, but the thought of the cold, sticky, gelatinous flesh of the heart in his mouth, forcing himself to swallow, when all his instincts and reflexes are making him – 

Jim heaves as the bile rises again, unable to keep it down this time, vomiting stringy saliva and bitter stomach acid over himself. _His captor’s not been forthcoming with anything to eat, exactly._

Magnussen laughs, a short, bark of an exclamation. “Made your decision then, Jimmy?”

"You _cunt_." 

"What crude language. Well, let me be similarly crude."

Magnussen steps closer, wrinkling his nose in an exaggerated expression of disgust.

"Really. Who do you imagine is going to want to _fuck_ you, you stinking fucking animal piece of shit?"


	9. Chapter 9

Jim twists sideways and lunges, jaws snapping at thin air as Magnussen moves back just in time to prevent his face being bitten. Holding Jim's ferocious gaze, Magnussen very deliberately picks up the bloodstained pliers from where he discarded them earlier.

"Shall I take the next one from your other little toe, or move straight on to the big toe?"

Jim sags slightly in defeat, but then, continuing to stare defiantly at his tormentor, slides his hips forwards, his flaccid cock smearing the clotted globs of blood over the veined surface of the heart. 

"I'd oblige you, Charlie-boy but, as you can see, your techniques aren't exactly having the desired effect on me."

Magnussen peers at Jim's cock, shrugging. "Can't get it up, Jimmy? I'm surprised. And rather disappointed. I did not anticipate the fearsome James Moriarty being unable to rise to the occasion."

"Well, then," Magnussen discards the pliers, and adopts an indulgent, sympathetic tone, "we shall have to find something to remedy your lack of _puissance_ , James, hmmm?"

Smirking at Jim, Magnussen picks up a metal rule from the trolley, sliding it underneath the tip of Jim's cock and lifting the flaccid organ up for inspection.

"Impotence is _such_ a cross to bear. Poor Jimmy. Perhaps the _chastity_ device wasn't necessary after all?"

Jim snarls at him. "No problems my end, you fucker. Just the current company isn't doing it for me"

Magnussen chuckles. "I see. I am not attractive enough for you to be able to get a hard on? Well, thankfully my ego and self-esteem are quite robust enough to take such pathetic implied insults with the pinch of salt they properly deserve. You have, however, earned yourself another punishment, before the game ends."

Magnussen steps back and nods to the orderly, who sinks a hypodermic needle into Jim's thigh, discharging its contents and then moving away. 

Immediately Jim feels somewhat dizzy, as if his blood's heading south - ha - ha - oh, yeah, into his cock, and it's getting so hard and he feels so weird but his prick's insistent, bobbing against his belly and beginning to leak, and Jim's head lolls back on the chair and his tongue feels too heavy for his mouth and he needs to grind his arse against the seat and rub his nipples against the rough canvas of the straightjacket and maybe cajole the tall speccy guy standing nearby for something to fuck against......


End file.
